This One-Skillet Jordanian Dish Is the Best Way to Use Your Summer Tomatoes

In Jordan, where I grew up, galayet bandora is a staple, and there’s no better way to cook too many tomatoes. Tomatoes are cooked down with plenty of olive oil, copious amounts of sliced garlic, and a bit of fresh green chile peppers, and seasoned simply with salt and black pepper. It comes together with very few ingredients, yet it’s so beloved that it’s considered one of the country’s national dishes. Typically scooped up with warm pita, it can also be eaten with a variety of rice dishes. Its strength is in its simplicity.

While galayet bandora means “fried tomatoes” or “stir-fried tomatoes” in Arabic, the tomatoes in this dish aren’t actually fried at all. Instead, they’re simmered on the stovetop until they collapse and concentrate into a deeply savory and naturally sweet stew-like dish. The “fried” in the name is likely a nod to the generous amount of olive oil in which they’re cooked.

The Best Way to Use up Your Tomato Surplus

This is the dish I turn to when tomato season’s dizzyingly beautiful array of varieties, shapes, and colors predictably makes me get carried away and over-shop at the farmers market. The brevity of the season only encourages my tomato-hoarding habits. It’s the brightest, most colorful stretch of the year and the one I look forward to most. This dish is especially good for those tomatoes that are too soft for a sandwich or caprese, plus it’s a great way to use a lot of them.

It’s one of my favorite—and most nostalgic—ways to cook through my haul. Since the ingredient list is short, it’s worth seeking out in-season, ripe, and local (if possible) tomatoes that are naturally sweeter and more flavorful than the cardboard-like ones you often find at the supermarket. A fruity, peppery extra-virgin olive oil plays seamlessly with the tomatoes’ grassiness and umami notes. So few ingredients, yet they come together to create a wide range of flavors.

My Version of Galayet Bandora: With Heat, Texture, and Tang

Galayet bandora—pronounced with a hard “g” in the typical Jordanian dialect but alayet bandora in my West Amman city girl accent—often features a whole green chile pepper (in this case, a serrano) that simmers away in the sauce. Following traditional preparations, I start by blistering a whole green chile (usually a serrano) in the olive oil until it’s speckled brown and softened. Then I add a second chopped chile for a touch more heat. The whole chile simmers in the sauce like a spicy bay leaf—except it actually adds something unmistakable. (Okay, fine, bay leaves do something too. But this does more, giving a subtle grassy heat throughout.)

I also stir in coarsely chopped yellow onion for texture (something my mom always does) and finish the dish with a splash of pomegranate molasses. That bit isn’t traditional, but the molasses adds a tangy pop and depth to complement the tomatoes’ brightness and the olive oil’s richness. While the tomatoes do take time to simmer down, the prep is quick, the cooking is mostly hands-off, and everything happens in one skillet—just let it bubble away, stirring occasionally, especially toward the end when the mixture becomes more concentrated and prone to sticking and scorching.

How to Serve Galayet Bandora

This dish is a full-on celebration of the tomato—so central and satisfying that throughout Jordan, it’s considered a main dish, not a side. Since it’s made from widely accessible ingredients, it’s exceptionally approachable, but it’s also exceedingly flavorful. It’s typically eaten by tearing off bite-size pieces of pita and scooping up the cooked-down tomatoes, a method called taghmees, which means “dipping.” The same approach is used for eating mezze like hummus and muhammara, among other dishes. It’s an intimate way of eating that if done right, shouldn’t get your fingers messy. But if you decide to go at it with a spoon, I promise not to judge.

Why I Love This Dish

I’ve always found it meaningful that this dish, which feels synonymous with Jordanian home cooking, stands in stark contrast to mansaf, the country’s other national dish. Mansaf is grand and ceremonial—slow-cooked lamb in a sauce made from jameed, a fermented, dried yogurt that’s soaked overnight. It’s served over a thin flatbread called shrak, layered with yellow rice, and topped with toasted almonds. Galayet bandora, by comparison, is simple, weeknight-friendly, and entirely plant-based. The two couldn’t be more different: One relies on special ingredients and long preparation; the other comes together with what’s fresh and on hand. That contrast is a testament to the Levant’s dynamic and wide-ranging culinary traditions. And to me, galayet bandora is one of my favorite ways to celebrate the fleeting tomato season—still the happiest time of year.

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